The Edge of Listening
The Edge of Listening is a lyrical collection of poems that moves through silence, memory, longing, and return.
Read extracts from a few poems.
The Edge of Listening
There are places
where silence isn't absence;
it's presence,
retaining the shape
of what the world neglected to say.
The sea,
the mountain,
and the forest
all listen
in their own ancient way,
not with ears
but with memories.
--- --- --- --- --- --- ---
--- --- --- --- ---
where silence isn't absence;
it's presence,
retaining the shape
of what the world neglected to say.
The sea,
the mountain,
and the forest
all listen
in their own ancient way,
not with ears
but with memories.
--- --- --- --- --- --- ---
--- --- --- --- ---
Coming Soon
The Forest Remembers
The forest does not forget.
It remembers everything—
the stir of ancient winds,
the weight of moss-covered sorrow,
the wild pulse
of something older than names.
I walk where light filters
like breath through cathedral leaves,
where vines twist
in slow, deliberate prayers
around trunks that hold
the memory of rain.
... .... ......... .... ... .....
.... .... ...... ...
It remembers everything—
the stir of ancient winds,
the weight of moss-covered sorrow,
the wild pulse
of something older than names.
I walk where light filters
like breath through cathedral leaves,
where vines twist
in slow, deliberate prayers
around trunks that hold
the memory of rain.
... .... ......... .... ... .....
.... .... ...... ...
Coming Soon
And No one will know
No one will know
that we walked this earth,
that the dust clung to our feet
as we wandered through forgotten streets,
that the wind once whispered our names
through alleyways of time.
No one will know
that our laughter brushed against old walls,
that our hands traced the chipped paint
of doors now sealed in silence,
that once, in the murmur of dusk,
we sat by the river,
where the quiet waters held our reflections
and never let go.
... .... ......... .... ... .....
.... .... ...... ...
that we walked this earth,
that the dust clung to our feet
as we wandered through forgotten streets,
that the wind once whispered our names
through alleyways of time.
No one will know
that our laughter brushed against old walls,
that our hands traced the chipped paint
of doors now sealed in silence,
that once, in the murmur of dusk,
we sat by the river,
where the quiet waters held our reflections
and never let go.
... .... ......... .... ... .....
.... .... ...... ...
Coming Soon